


(I'm So Glad) I Kissed A Girl

by ama



Series: Toccoa College [1]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Disabled Character, F/F, F/M, Female Friendship, First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Queer Character, Racebent, Rule 63, Tattoos, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 19:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1995423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ama/pseuds/ama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jo Toye is just entering her third year of college, and her third year of her friends teasing her mercilessly for her crush on Georgie Luz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(I'm So Glad) I Kissed A Girl

**Author's Note:**

> The characters are based on Band of Brothers; many of the situations are based on my experience at a small women's college (in this fic, the characters live in a single-sex dorm at a coed college, although the dorm is also home to AFAB nonbinary people), so if something seems odd to you, I promise, at least one college does it that way! There may be more in this verse, and here is a [short but growing list](http://khazadqueen.tumblr.com/college-verse) of characters and the basic facts about them. Title is from I Kissed A Girl, by Jill Sobule. Much thanks to rivlee for looking it over!

“A little more to the left. Left, Jo, that’s the direction opposite right. Good, and up a little—too much. Down a little—”

“I swear to God, Gonorrhea, if you don’t stop nitpicking I’m going to strangle you in your sleep.”

Belle was, of course, completely unfazed. She shrugged and rolled further back to take in the full view of the room. She had hung up what seemed like five thousand pictures of their friends and dorm-mates at levels within reach of her wheelchair. Jo, however, had been the one to hang up the Christmas lights, the Toccoa pennant, the rainbow flag, the Pittsburgh Penguins poster, the X-Men poster, Rosie the Riverter, a map of Philadelphia, no fewer than _four_ pictures of Joseph Gordon-Levitt (“Don’t question me, Jo, just do it”), and her own prized, autographed poster of Rita Moreno. All that was left was the enormous Steelers flag. Belle, who had designed their room with the ruthless efficiency generals put into battle plans, had been directing her for at least an hour and a half; her arms were getting sore, and her knees were throbbing uncomfortably around their braces.

“All right, all right, that’s good. Though I could do without the attitude, Miss Joanne.”

“Shaddup,” Jo said cheerfully as she climbed down, but there was no real bite to it. This was her third year as Belle’s roommate; they had met on the very first move-in day, two tough Pennsylvania girls sharing the only handicapped room in their dorm, and become friends almost instantly. She had learned very quickly that the only way to react to Belle’s frequent jabs was to jab right back. “When’s Frankie moving in?”

“He’ll be here tomorrow night. Coincidentally, I won’t be here tomorrow night,” she said with a wink. Jo laughed.

“How long’s it been?”

“Four and a half weeks. I’ve only seen him, like, three times since he started work, and it’s been _hell_. Oh, and speaking of which—”

“Hey, you guys got any nails left?” a voice asked suddenly as Babe poked her head in the door. The late August heat was obviously getting to her, as her face was as red as her hair, and she slumped against the doorframe languidly. “I’m trying to put up my wall hanging with tacks, but they keep falling out.”

“Yeah, I got some,” Jo said, just as Belle warned “Sink is going to _kill_ you.”

“So I won’t let her see,” Babe shrugged. “Oh hey, Joe, have you heard who else is back early?” she asked with a smirk.

“Don’t tell me Norma is here,” Jo groaned. “I thought she was transferring!”

“Not Norma, I meant—”

“Shut the fuck up, Babe, I was just going to tell her,” Belle interrupted, but before they could start bickering in earnest, another person popped in from the hallway.

“Well look at this, the party’s already here.” Georgie Luz, looking like summer personified in a yellow sundress (though the effect was somewhat lessened by the presence of her ever-present scruffy red Converse), leaned against the doorframe opposite Babe and grinned toothily at them all. “Have you—holy shit, Jo! That looks fucking amazing!”

Before Jo could so much as blink, Georgie was in the middle of the room, reaching out towards her arms. Her hands hovered just over Jo’s skin, not touching, but clearly meaning to touch the tattoos that decked Jo’s arms. The first few months at Toccoa had been transformative ones for Jo, internally and externally. She had shaved off what remained of her hair, gotten three new cartilage piercings, and started a full sleeve tattoo on her left arm.

Of course, soon after that she had had a rather severe falling out with her parents and found that _paying_ for a full sleeve was going to be a tad more difficult once she began paying for room, board, tuition, and… everything else. The tattoo had progressed bit by bit. The line work from shoulder to elbow had been done since their first year. Midway through their second year she had had shoulder to wrist finished. It was only this past summer, though, that she had finally done the coloring—and the coloring made all the difference. It was all classic American style: bold lines, bolder colors. A parchment strip on her upper arm, surrounded by red flowers and an eagle head in mid-screech, proclaimed _death before dishonor_.  Her forearm was a mess of rose vines, violet stars, weapons, and two playing cards—an ace of spades and an ace of clubs. That was the winning hand that had won her the money needed to actually _pay_ for the second half of the line art.

Jo was immensely pleased with her tattoos for a variety of reasons that had to do with body issues and independence and other very important things, but all of that flew out of the window in about two seconds, and she found herself feeling immensely pleased with her tattoos because _Georgie Luz was almost touching them_.

“Thanks,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck somewhat sheepishly. “I got ’em done last month.”

“Awesome,” Georgie repeated. “Seriously, that looks _so good_.”

Behind Georgie she could see Babe and Belle looking at each other and smirking, and Jo coughed.

“’S good to have it done, finally. So how was your summer, Georgie?”

“Eh, same as always,” Georgie shrugged, stepping back. She flopped down into Belle’s desk chair, which Jo had been standing on to hang some of the posters. “Worked for most of it, you know. Oh, except the last three weeks or so. I visited cousins in Brazil for two weeks, that was pretty great.”

“Oh yeah, I saw that on Facebook,” Babe said. “You were sitting on a beach the same time I was pouring tar onto some old lady’s driveway. I wanted to kill you.”

“Babe, I’m very sorry that my ancestors had the good sense to come from a place populated entirely by hot people in small bathing suits, while _yours_ had the misfortune to come from somewhere populated by leprechauns, but that’s the way life works sometimes, okay? Now as I was saying, have you guys realized that the first floor is officially replacing the second as party central?”

“Hey, that’s been true since the minute me and Jo got here,” Belle said with a grin.

“Okay sure, but now it’s official. Think about it, there’s the three of you in this hallway—oh, Babe, I meant to ask. Who’s your roommate again?”

“Someone named Julia Johnson,” Babe shrugged. “Transferred from another dorm. We’ve chatted a couple times and she seems all right, but she’s not a partier, trust me.”

“Anyway, the three of you, then me and Perco and Donna Hoobler in the front hall, then Skip, Alex, and Lynn are _all_ down by the first-year hallway. I bet you any amount of money Malark is going to spend half her time in Skip and Alex’s room anyway, and who else is left on the second floor? Cora Lipton, who’s not a big partier, Eleanor Winters, who no one would invite, and Ronnie—”

“Does anyone want Ronnie at a party?” Babe shuddered. “She scares the shit out of me.”

“Exactly. There’s Louise and Harry, sure, but Louise wouldn’t want to bother Winters. And no one else who’s up there is going to take the initiative, so really, it’s all on us. And I say we start off tomorrow night with a little welcome back bash.”

“Can’t,” Belle said promptly. “I’m getting laid tomorrow night.”

Georgie rolled her eyes dramatically and started to complain, but Belle didn’t even have the decency to pretend to budge. After a few seconds Georgie appealed to Babe, who looked sheepish.

“Jean’s not getting back tomorrow until five or six… I promised them I’d help get their room together and then we’d do a late dinner.”

“In other words, Babe’s also getting laid tomorrow night,” Belle translated. “C’mon, let’s get wasted tonight instead.”

“No one’s _here_. It’s just the four of us, Perco, Winters, Cora, Louise, Buck, and Donna Malarkey, and half of them have plans.”

“You can come over here if you want,” Jo said, surprising herself. “You and Fran. The three of us were planning on doing something anyway.”

Babe and Belle, to whom this was news, both looked at her with raised eyebrows, but Georgie seemed pleased. She agreed to stop by with her roommate after dinner, abused Babe and Belle for their unacceptable romantic entanglements, and left to go finish setting up her room. All three of the girls who remained waved, and then Babe and Belle looked at Jo again. She felt her face turn red.

“Shut up.”

They looked at each other and burst out laughing.

\---

“This is it, Fran,” Georgie groaned as she fell on her bed. “This is the year I either make out with Jo Toye, or die of sexual frustration.”

“I’ll make sure it’s a nice funeral,” Fran Perconte said, sounding bored.

“She finished her sleeve. I almost made a total fucking idiot of myself when I saw it, I swear to God. It’s just—” She flapped her hand uselessly. “—the whole goddamn _aesthetic_. She was wearing a fucking _black tank top_ , for fuck’s sake, and the tattoos and the hair… like it’s not enough she has to be hot in general, let’s just throw in all the rest of it. We’re going to her and Belle’s room for drinks with them and Babe later, by the way, and I swear, if you clam jam me—”

“Okay, stop,” Fran said firmly. She was in the midst of transferring her clothes from her suitcase to her bureau, but she stopped right in the middle and turned to face Georgie, lips pursed. “Come on, Georgie, what’s the motto?”

She groaned.

“Fran, forget the motto—”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Dorm booty is bad booty,” Georgie said in a reluctant, monotone voice. “Counter-argument: Jean and Babe. Louise and Winters.”

“Counter-counter argument: Josie and Danica.”

Georgie took a moment to think back on the absolutely _disastrous_ mess of a relationship that that had been, and the subsequent drama that had made the entire dorm incredibly uncomfortable for several weeks, and shuddered. She dragged her pillow over her face and muttered “Point taken. But she’s so fucking _cute_.”

“You’re a ditz,” Fran shrugged, although she did reach over and pat Georgie’s hair sympathetically before going back to her clothes. “Half the campus is in love with Jo and the other half is terrified of her. All you’ve gotta do is join us sane people on the right half. You know those brass knuckles she wears on a necklace sometimes? Those are _real_.”

“I know,” Georgie said miserably. “I saw her deck a creeper with ’em at the last Phi Gamma party fall semester. It was really hot.”

“There is something _wrong_ with you.”

\---

Jo couldn’t remember, exactly, when her crush on Georgiana Luz began, except to say that it had started sometime during their first year. They had met during the flurry of orientation events, of course, but for a while she had thought that Georgie was a bit… well, ridiculous. It was the voices, the jokes, the spontaneous bursts of song. Not her style at all. Once orientation week was over, though, she realized that a lot of the silliness was just-off-to-college nerves, and what remained was complimented by a genuine honesty and interest in people. And somewhere along the line she fell ridiculously in love, and had no idea how to make that clear to Georgie.

The problem, she thought as she surveyed the other girl over the rim of her cup, was that Georgie was too damn _likeable_. Almost everyone liked her, and she liked almost everyone in return. Sometimes you didn’t even know that George liked you; you’d go about your day thinking that you were acquaintances with her, and then out of the blue she’d ask you how your folks were doing back home because you had mentioned a month ago that your dad had pneumonia, or tell you that she saw you in a play that weekend and thought you were amazing, or sharply reprimand someone who wasn’t giving you the credit you deserved.

This, of course, was one of the reasons that Jo was so head over heels for her. But it also made it very difficult to know whether Georgie liked her the same way. So she just sat there and watched, and admired the way Georgie’s dark curls bounced as she argued animatedly with Fran. They hadn’t been drinking for very long; Fran and Georgie had come around just as the sun was beginning to set. Babe had already claimed her allotted pillow, an enormous fluffy one, but luckily Belle and Jo had plenty for this express purpose. Fran had sat at Jo’s desk, and Georgie plopped down on not just one but three pillows, within arm’s length of Jo’s spot on the floor.

Between Georgie and Belle, they were already up to speed on much of the summer’s gossip, and had progressed to arguments over the alcohol.

“C’mon, Perco, hand over the bottle.”

“I am not letting you within an inch of my liquor, Luz. I need to live to see the morning.”

“Which one of us worked as a goddamn bartender all summer, huh? And half of last year? Jo, you were at that Able party last semester, right? Tell ’em I’m a good bartender.”

“You pour a beer really well,” Jo laughed. “I’ve never been within a foot of one of your cocktails, though.”

“Okay, that’s it,” Babe interrupted. She set her cup down in front of Georgie. “I heard stories all last year. I want to try a patented G. Luz cocktail.”

“No you don’t, lightweight,” Belle said, snatching the cup away. “They’re one part mixer, one part jet fuel, six parts tequila. No offense, but you couldn’t handle it.”

She passed the cup to Fran, who was lounging in Jo’s chair next to a desk crowded with liquor bottles. Fran turned around and started going through the bottles until she found the bourbon.

“I’ll make you a mint julep. It’s summer, we’re in Georgia, and it’s a classic, not like Georgie’s swill.”

Georgie flipped her off and stood, taking a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her ragged jacket. They had thrown the windows open to take advantage of the nighttime breeze, and the room was getting rather chilly.

“You know what, fuck all of you,” she said good-naturedly, a cigarette stuck between her lips. “I need a smoke.” Then, inexplicably, her eyes fell on Jo. She hesitated for a brief moment, and said “Jo, you want a smoke?”

Jo’s mouth went dry, and she pretended not to notice the way that everyone in the room was suddenly staring at her. Calmly, she took a sip of her drink—cheap bourbon and Coke, nothing fancy—and set it down before she stood up.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Georgie—” Fran began.

“Make your mint julep, don’t worry about,” Georgie cut her off as she sauntered from the room. Jo followed her, glancing back at the last second to see Belle waggling her eyebrows. ‘Fuck you’ she mouthed, and tried not to find anything ominous in the exasperated face that Fran was making.

Georgie handed her a cigarette as they left the dorm. Officially, they were supposed to smoke twenty feet away from the building; unofficially, there was an old coffee can on the porch that served as an ashtray for most of the smokers, right next to the porch swing. Georgie breezed right by it, which made Jo’s heart thump irregularly. The porch swing was right next to Belle’s window, so by bypassing it Georgie was ensuring that nobody would be eavesdropping on their conversation—which had to be a good sign, right?

Or maybe she was just following the rules. Whatever.

They were about fifteen feet from the door, in the dorm gardens, when Georgie slowed and pulled a lighter from her pocket. She lit her cigarette and offered the light to Jo, who nodded her thanks and took a long drag to steady her nerves.

“So I never asked,” Georgie said after a minute of companionable silence. “How was your summer?”

“Good. Yeah, uh, Donna and me got an apartment in Athens for the first month and a half and worked for a bit. She flew back to Oregon just before her job started—she did the summer camp again—and I went back to Philly, stayed with Belle’s family, did some lab work at an engineering firm. Nothing exciting, really, but, you know, got a foot in the door.”

“Awesome. That’s great, yeah.”

“Not as cool as going to Brazil. Shit, Georgia’s the furthest I’ve ever been away from Philly.”

Georgie shrugged it off and scratched at her ear.

“Meh, I didn’t really do much. I went sight-seeing for like, three days, visited five million family members, and spent basically the rest of my time at Porto de Barra. I mean here I am in this _incredible_ city, one of the most biologically diverse countries in the world, and I spend my time sleeping on a beach. Deplorable. But hey, I’m well-rested now—and really dark, too.”

She held up her arm as proof; her normally tawny skin had darkened to a deep chestnut, bathed gold in the light of the lamps.

“Yeah, I noticed. I’m not a fan of the beach, but me and Belle spent, like, one afternoon at the park this summer and I got _burned_ , can you believe that? I got my dad's fucking Irish skin, no wonder people think I'm white.”

Georgie chuckled, and then hesitated.

“Did you—I mean—I know you said you were maybe going to see your sisters this summer.”

Jo frowned and stared down at her cigarette, tapping the white paper with one finger.

“Nah. They, uh… they didn’t want to get in trouble with my parents, you know. And, honestly, I thought I might make them uncomfortable, so I just told them I didn’t mind.”

“Shit. That sucks, man, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She shrugged. “I saw Belle, Babe, and Donna plenty. And now I’m back.”

Georgie smiled her beautiful, simple, honest smile. Her teeth were slightly crooked; her dad was a dentist, and had declared that since her teeth were in perfect health there was no need to have them straightened. Every once in a while Georgie raised her hand to her mouth in a way that made Jo think that, maybe, she was a bit self-conscious about them, but she had no idea why. She thought Georgie had the best smile she’d ever seen.

“Now you’re back,” Georgie echoed.

There was silence for a few minutes except for the soft puff of breath. Jo leaned against the nearest tree—the smoker’s tree, which smelled permanently of tobacco and was home to another coffee-can-ashtray nestled in its roots—and peered up at the stars visible through the dark leaves. She could feel Georgie looking at her, but by now her nerves had settled. It was better, now, being back at Toccoa. She actually felt at _home_ here; for all that she loved Philly, it was still too close to bad memories. She had only been here for about five or six hours, and already she could feel contentment seeping through her veins.

It was the only place, she realized as her eyes travelled over to the three-story Easy Dorm, that she really felt _comfortable_. Comfortable with herself, with her surroundings, with the people. And really, it didn’t matter if Georgie liked her _that way_ , because even if she didn’t, she was a good friend. Jo liked having friends. She liked being surrounded by people who were good to her in a whole variety of ways; Belle as a partner in crime, Babe as a shoulder to cry on, even Fran as the only person who shared her dry sense of humor. She loved Toccoa. She loved Easy.

After a moment, Jo closed her eyes and began to hum, softly. Georgie listened for a while and then knelt down to drop her cigarette butt in the ashtray as the song dwindled away.

“You know you’re completely tone deaf,” she said after a moment. She stepped a bit closer. “But I think I like that song.”

Jo opened her eyes and looked down. Georgie seemed… needlessly close. Close enough to smell cigarette smoke, sweat, and cherry blossoms. Close enough to spot the very faint freckles scattered across her cheekbones. Suddenly her heart was pounding. She wasn’t sure—she still wasn’t _sure_ —but in that second she decided that she didn’t need to be sure. She bent down and kissed Georgiana Luz firmly on the mouth.

“Fucking _finally_!”

Jo jerked away, her head whipping towards the house, but Georgie beat her to it.

“Shut the fuck up, Gonorrhea!” she shouted, and looked back at Jo with wide eyes and an enormous grin.

“That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” Jo said, deadpan, and leaned down to kiss her again.


End file.
